Black Cherry
by Aeronous
Summary: Kagome Higurashi never once thought about being abducted. She never thought about stumbling into an enigmatic, silverhaired seducer, and she definately never thought about getting involved with a mob. Ah well. A good story's gotta start somewhere.
1. Prologue: Kidnapped?

**Disclaimer:** I will never own Inuyasha. It will always belong to Rumiko Takahashi.

_Prologue_

_**Kidnapped?**_

* * *

Wearily, I looked up at the pair of green, rectangular, street signs pointing down a barren road on my left and down an ominous stretch on my right. _Maine St. and Central Rd., _they read in dull, dirt-speckled white.

I sighed and folded my arms across my chest to bury my numb fingers underneath my armpits, trying my best to force off the chill nipping at my flesh.

_I hate Stiletto heels, _I thought grimly, watching as my breath spiraled up into the air in a tendril of white vapor and quickly withered away into the darkness. _I hate the cold. I hate this skimpy, leather skirt, tank top, and jacket. I even hate…_

I stopped thinking for a second, letting my eyes drift down to the sidewalk. Snow coated it like dust meant for a mystical, fairy-tale world, yet the dead weeds that hung in despair over the blanket of white trimmed down what little beauty that my eyes could savor. However, a spark of gold that entangled itself with the snow restored it suddenly. Instantly, I recognized its origin as being the cheesy lighting that illuminated the rundown strip joint called Joe's Place behind me.

I turned around slowly to stare at the unsightly door just barely hiding the sinful deeds that lay beyond it. It was made of glass smudged messily in dirt and iron bars crisscrossed along its stained face, making a wild stampede of shivers run down my spine. In my so-called "humble" opinion, I thought it was better to have the door donated to the package/liquor store down the street. It didn't have a door at all, mostly because the storeowner couldn't afford one.

Joe's Place didn't deserve a door. And even though I detested liquor with an ardor, the other store was the only one closest to my apartment complex that always had my favorites in stock, such as Buffalo Rock in a 1 Liter bottle and those addictive, Hershey candy-bars called _Whatchamacallits_. Joe's Place didn't own anything I wanted or the least bit desired…other than money.

"And warmth…" I murmured softly, maybe even longingly.

I took one step forward towards the bar, stopping abruptly once I remembered the man I worked for, the place that practically used me to help function itself financial-wise.

_Joe, _I thought. _I work for him and him alone. _

Tiredly, I turned back around and returned to my station near the curb.

I didn't know how long I had to stand there, but I recalled Joe demanding quite firmly that I refill the spot as the street-side hooker from 8 to 11 PM, 5 days a week, especially since Arlene oh-so-eloquently "excused" herself from the premises last Friday. And when she left, the cash flow slowly began trickling in because she had more men drooling over her than anything…or any**one**.

Fortunately, I wasn't all that popular and I didn't look at myself as being more beautiful than all of the models (or hookers) on this earth combined. I was a plain Jane and, hopefully, nothing more. I worked at Joe's Place, not because I wanted to, but because I **had **to, because the pay was good, way more than just decent or permissible.

Once again hunching my shoulders and deeply curling in on myself, I sat there near the curb, shivering wildly, relentlessly in the cold. I sunk willingly into the appeasing embrace of silence, closed my eyes, and mentally pictured myself in a tubful of steaming-hot water…

I didn't get a chance to dream any farther than that. Before I had a chance to dodge it, a large, calloused hand seized my arm in a firm, unyielding grip that had my muscles squalling out in agony.

I whimpered, making many pitiful and fruitless attempts to claw the hand off from the owner's arm. No sooner had I tried to pull of such a maneuver did I realize that that was quite foolish of me. Like a bullet hacking through the darkness, another hand grabbed my other arm and reared me forward into what felt like a very warm plate of steel. I couldn't pillage the chance to use my hands as cushions to soften the impact, but I did, however, own enough common sense to twist my head around and let my right cheek represent as a thin pillow.

"Take her…" I heard a deep, bone-chilling voice rise up behind me, "She shouldn't be a part of this."

"Right."

That reply knocked me slightly off-guard as apprehension began to engulf my entire chest. As subtly as humanly possible, I tried to lift my head up only to feel a gush of wind collide into my face and a careless jolt cause my knees to malfunction and my feet to melt away into nothingness. But I didn't fall. Oh no. Instead, a burly arm foiled my grim expectations of plowing face-first into the cement and, inwardly, I happily patted myself on the back for not going through with the plan of amputating its hand.

But such a feeling was soon devoured whole by an emotionless void once Joe's Place infiltrated my view.

People were flooding out of the small building as if a flock of demons were nipping at their heels. Their screams filled the night as if I was watching a black and white horror film burst into color and bloom fully into life, yet that wasn't the only thing that snagged my attention. I just barely picked up on the thunderous blast of gunshots roaring inside the structure.

I gasped, eyes wide, and that was all it took for my level-headedness to suddenly become unbalanced. That feeling never left me even as I was hurled into the back of some foreign vehicle and a gentle wave of whispers began to wash over my ears even under the din of the engine and the screeching of tires against gravel.


	2. Chapter 1: Just a Nightmare?

_Chapter One _

_**Just a Nightmare?**_

* * *

I felt cold and comparatively nauseous.

Fear was practically breathing down my neck and trying to burst open my heart in its boorish clutches, but with every heartless attempt it made to squeeze it, it slipped out from underneath its fingertips and the whole battle-for-death thing started all over again.

I salvaged what little I could of the whispers currently filling up the car and fending off the pregnant silence. But I was far from satisfied. I could hardly make out any words and was left arranging sentences while my thoughts drifted aimlessly in the dark. So far, my results were: "She must be taken to Tasha," and, "Why? He would heal her."

Remarkably, this one by far was the most intelligible: "I dinky's hot."

These poorly cooked up sentences raced through my mind repeatedly throughout the entire ride and slowly chased away the fear simmering in my chest, only to replace it with peaceful thinking and emotions. But as soon as the vehicle jerked to a complete stop, simultaneously did all of my sweet and tranquil feelings and supposedly paradisiacal ponderings. I sensed the return of both loneliness and fear shuddering up my back like claw-tips dancing threateningly along human flesh.

I whimpered like a child isolated from the reassuring warmth of her parents and thrown out into the uncaring cold to provide her own warmth…her own means for protection. The heartless chill wrapped about my body like a vivacious rope of ice and left a discomforting feeling of distress and pessimism in its windy, slithering wake.

_Please,_ I kept pleading inside my throbbing head. Just let it stop. _Oh please…just let it stop._

In the long run, I was relieved for a couple of things: First for the capsizing of my thoughts. And second for the pleasant vacuity taking over my mind.

However, such a feeling of happiness, of stress-relieving thankfulness, was short-lived. A burst of red flashed behind my eyes like fireworks skyrocketing up into a moonless, jet-black sky. Once the vehicle reeled to a stop, I was left strewn raggedly along its bumpy floor, packed in tightly by the backseats and the smooth hind of the front seat. I could've sworn something in my body popped out of place, but I furiously displaced the thought. As I tried to grab hold of something sturdy, something that could help me gain back my bearings, I murmured darkly beneath my breath, "What more can possibly go wrong now?"

Two doors opened and slammed shut at the same time, like the prelude to an ominous hymn.

I could feel the hairs on my back slowly begin to stand on end as I allowed the silence to sweep me away with its cool, ghost-like fingers. I couldn't breathe and, suddenly, the car that I was in seemed to be closing in on me as it transformed itself into a nice compact made for two inside my mind.

_Oh…god…_

I quickly scrambled into the backseat, deliberately choosing to ignore the fact that my skimpy, leather skirt was diminishing into nothing right before my startled eyes, baring my already cold hips to the world. I dully realized that my feet were stinging and crying out for relief. Just barely curbing my heavy, uncontrollable pants, I sunk further into the leathery cushions and spent a long couple of seconds blinking my eyes, unable to do anything else to subdue my jittery nerves. Furtively, I reached out to jiggle the handle on the door nearby only to realize that a mere child lock separated me from wide, open plains of freedom.

To say I felt suffocated was quite an understatement.

To say I felt scared was as oversimplified as feeling suffocated.

I sucked in the sides of my mouth as I tried to collect what little of my composure remained beneath the frenzied chaos of emotions raging inside me. I barely noticed when the door beside me flung wide open and revealed a menacing shadow that emerged as a male bodybuilder inside my thought-muddled mind.

I hiccupped…nervously.

"You're coming with me," a deep voice rumbled, almost brimming with hostility.

No, I take that back. It **was** brimming with hostility.

I whimpered and reeled back to escape the large, hairy, brutish-looking hand lunging for my arm. I lost my bearings completely when I struck the backseat huddled on the far left, my hands zipping through the darkness and seizing blindly, clenching and unclenching in an effort to find some imaginary, guide railing.

_I can't believe this is happening!_

I fell until I came in contact with something hard and unyielding beneath my fast-settling weight. My head jerked and bobbled until some imperceptible force lobbed it upside the ruthless surface of the foot of the passenger door. I gasped softly as dizziness pervaded my body and my mind. The large shadow before me blurred and wavered until it became so indistinguishable that I actually thought I was looking into an endless void of black.

And it wasn't long before I truly was.

* * *

_ii. _**Interlude**

"_What is it that you want from me?" _

"_What I want is for you to start acting like a mother instead of some unkempt whore!"_

_A slap and a piercing gasp resounded through the cold darkness swarming the spacious bedroom._

_Dappled moonbeams explored along the folds of the lace curtains covering an opened window nearby the bathroom door. It billowed languidly like oceanic waves, moving with the gentle flow of a whistling breeze. Quietly, it continued to dance to some unheard rhythm even as a voice poisoned with disdain, breached the barrier of silence._

"_How dare you. How dare **you**!"_

* * *

_iii. _**Mr. Man**

I aroused, head spinning, in a world of darkness.

The air was insufferably chilly and my skin felt tight and scaly with rabid goose bumps. My tongue wriggled slightly, bringing forth to my attention the uncomfortable amounts of dryness settling inside my mouth. I frowned and moved my head to the side, sighing noiselessly at the soothing flood of softness that rose up to caress my warm cheek. I sighed even louder once I felt the same, familiar softness float up to greet my achy arms and legs, lending some leisure to my sore joints.

"Oh God," I whispered, the words falling from my mouth in a hiss of released air, "I must be in heaven."

_But where are the bright lights? I guess Satan is just trying to butter me up before I set foot on his actual grounds._

"Hmm…heaven, huh?" a smooth, gentle—non-**hostile**, I noticed—voice slipped into my ears like liquid chocolate, a voice from one corner of the murky emptiness surrounding me, "But if you think so, go right on ahead. Meh. But I do think Inuyasha's bedroom is a whole lot better. However, I can't hold this room up to such high standards while regarding the fact that this is nothing but a tiny island compared to his vast isle."

I didn't feel like coming to an upright position to look around. Instead, I felt more comfortable just lying down on my backside, continually wondering, _Why in the world is this person talking about bedrooms of all things? And who is…Inuyasha? _

No reason as to why the person was talking on and on about bedrooms came to me. Neither did a good hunch as to who this Inuyasha person could be. So I sat there quietly, listening, hoping, and sharpening my awareness to pick up on anything that sounded the least bit like a clue on how to get out of there. Yet, I knew. I didn't need a six pound, pink elephant to suddenly appear out of nowhere and tell me that there were no possible beneficial points that I could reap from a lecture about bedrooms. It just wasn't probable.

Once my mind was just beginning to run astray, the voice concluded with a deep sigh, "I'm boring you with my long digressions, aren't I?"

Blinking my eyes a couple of times, I wasn't expecting for the darkness around me to dematerialize so quickly into a burst of blinding, coppery light that stung my eyes like acid and caused me to recoil pitifully like a snail. I made quite a laborious effort to make a larger dent in the flat thing cradling my weight so that I could hide from the light, so that my valuable eyesight could still be deemed "valuable." But I already knew from the get-go and the get-around that that was the most futile thing in the world to do.

"Ahhh…I see you weren't prepared for that…" came the voice again, yet it held a smoother and gentler edge to it.

_No duh, Einstein. _

Blinking my eyes and adjusting them to the lights, I folded my legs to the side and sat up. It didn't take long before my eyes landed on a semi-muscular figure dressed in an elaborate, storm-gray vest with a dressy, red, silk shirt that completely covered his thick arms. He wore pants the same color as his vest, and shiny, black shoes that glimmered as if just purchased from an upscale shoe store. His hat added a nice finishing touch to his admirable ensemble with its wide, gray brim and crown, which was trimmed in the same rich, satiny material that made up his shirt.

But his genial, stark-lavender eyes stood out acutely amid his garb like two swore thumbs. They opened the windows to my soul as if it were nothing, and left a very warm feeling to settle in the pit of my stomach like lava. The lava soon began to bubble and rise, shedding the warmth to uncomfortable sectors within my chest and around my heart, pooling there, just gurgling and waiting for my cataclysmic emotions to cause a shockwave that would unleash a devastating eruption.

Yet a wave of coolness snuffed out the blistery heat lapping at my innards as I scrutinized the eyes a bit further, a bit more thoughtfully. "Your eyes…" I murmured.

The young man walked over to the edge of the vast bed I was sitting on. Casually, he sat on the sparkling, gold comforter and stared at me with a friendly smile on his face and a foreign glint in his eyes which easily made my heart jerk against my ribcage.

My eyes widened slightly. I gulped and blushed before opening my mouth to say something else, but, thankfully, I was interrupted by the man's voice before I could start fumbling with the first word lodged in my throat.

"What about my eyes?"

"Well, ummm…" My hands roved down to the soft material bunched beneath me, clenching, groping, and moving along it nervously.

"Do they make you…melt?"

"They're deceiving," I quickly blurted out.

"Deceiving, eh?" he sounded shocked, yet his smile stretched against the release of wholesome laughter and proved differently, "That's quite the first. Most women say that my eyes take away from the most unappealing of my assets."

Instinctively, I asked, heart pounding brutally against my chest like a caged bird and keeping most of the words I was prepared to say shackled inside my throat, "And…what…necessarily…would those be?"

His dark eyebrows waggled at me noticeably as the grin on his face diminished into a devious leer and a hand wrapped in a black, fingerless, leather glove and reddish-brown beads, inched toward me like a spider crawling along a web.

"Miroku!" A new voice exclaimed warningly from the opposite end of the room.

Impulsively, my head shot up to acknowledge the door to the bedroom, which was hanging wide open to accommodate the broad-shouldered figure slumped against its doorframe. My lips formed a slight 'O' as the figure's eyes cut deep into my own like sharp, otherworldly, golden blades. I suddenly grew unaware of my rumpled state even though I knew I looked as if the cat probably dragged me in.

My thoughts, my eyes, were glued strongly, heavily on the strapping, young male who stood in the doorway with his arm pushed sideways against the wooden frame and his head lazing just barely across his knuckles as if he were about to doze off.

His expression was breathtaking, a beautiful mix of serenity and boyish grandeur. His eyes were soulful, brimming with emotion. His hair, oh his hair, was very long compared to my own and it glistened an unforgettable color with a type of a brilliance that emulated that shed by the strands of Indian elders.

I wanted to believe for a moment that he was some irresistible, pretty boy who probably modeled for a wealthy line of undergarments and was the apple of every woman's eye. I even wanted to believe that he only came there to sweep me up into his arms and lock us both away in his bed chambers for all eternity, but that seemed a little too extravagant.

The man sitting on the bed sighed and got back to his feet, all plans that he might've had in store for me pushed aside. The springs squeaked happily as he hoisted himself up from the foot of the bed and trudged stagnantly in the direction of the door.

I just kept staring.

"You're supposed to be with the other group," the man's low voice floated to me almost inaudibly from the doorway, making my legs melt some into the comforter and a soft breath to spill from my chest through my mouth.

"I know," Miroku answered and peered vaguely over his shoulder at me, a licentious shadow playing along the rim of his gaze, "But I couldn't resist the alluring, unprotected game that lay so innocently before me."

I swallowed and flushed deeply as my heart began to bounce up and down, choking me momentarily and causing a little cough to leave my throat. Idrew my hand up to my chest and looked down at the bed timidly.

The other man brusquely exhaled a terse snort of laughter through his nose. The sound probed temptingly at my curiosity and made me glance up at him with startled, owlish eyes. Dimly, I noticed that he was wearing the same outfit as Miroku, glove, beads, and top not included.

"Innocent," he said, as if testing the word on his tongue for even halfway decent flavor, yet failing miserably, "She's a street-side hooker, Miroku, not some majestic angel from heaven."

Miroku's eyes promptly swerved to land on the ones adjacent to him, a light smile playing along his lips. He stood there silently for a couple of seconds before I actually saw his jaw move subtly along with his lips. He was talking so softly now that I couldn't make out a single word.

I began to strain myself to catch snatches of the conversation, though I did so a little too late. The man in the doorway moved out of the way and allowed Miroku to walk past him. After Miroku was gone, the silver-haired dreamboat refilled his rightful spot in the opening, eyes watching me intently and boring into mine threateningly.

I looked at him, half-frightened and half-dazed. Wordlessly, he started for me with broad, semi-graceful strides. My eyes followed him all the while even as he sat down on the edge of the bed closest to me and reached for the drawer handle to a nightstand that I wasn't even remotely aware of until now. The drawer emitted a long hiss as he pulled it open.

Carefully, I started to ease away from him. Something didn't feel quite right.

I watched quietly, shakily as his long, slender fingers reached into the drawer and withdrew gradually. Once they resurfaced, my heart stopped and I froze, eyes wide. I gawked as the tip of a gun gleamed maliciously at me over his shoulder. When it clicked, I whimpered pathetically and scrambled ferociously to get off the bed and make a run for it. Yet, before I could even prepare to throw myself over the edge, a powerful force snagged my arm and thrust me onto my backside. Bone-crushing weight settled on my frail body and pinned me to the bed like a large boulder.

I sniffled as silver hair and amber eyes invaded my teary-eyed gaze.

"Please, no!" I cried out, "Don't do this! Please…no…please don't do this! **Please**!"

He was on top of me, straddling my torso with a menacing smirk on his lips and a sadistic gleam in his eyes that ushered forth a golden flame to bleed freely from their pupils. I felt something pointy frolic along my bare stomach and sobbed louder, "Please, **stop**! I beg of **you**! **Please**!"

I squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to struggle against him, but that only added onto the pain of him sitting on top of me.

When I reopened my eyes, I found myself staring into the barrel of a gun, his finger already poised on the trigger.

_No…not this way…I don't want to die like this!_

The prickly sensation lingering on my abdomen proceeded lazily northward.

I wracked against his clamping legs with uncontrollable sobs. Through the bleariness of my tears, I could've sworn I saw a fleeting glimpse of fangs before his lips advanced on mine savagely.

_No_, my mind shrieked, _Stop it!_

But my body defiantly proclaimed otherwise as I sensed several pointy tips play along the bottom curve of my right breast.

I breathed in blissfully deep when the kiss ended and his lips were but mere inches apart from mine. My fear, unfortunately, was restored tenfold when I felt something cold and metallic rub against my temple.

"Now, Kikyo," he spoke softly against my wet lips, his breath chilling them, "where is he?"

"W—what are you talking about?"

He grinned lightly and pulled the gun away from my temple only to bury the barrel into the coverlet beside my head. He pulled the trigger and I screamed as the bullet tore from the gun's insides with a roar that was hardly smothered by the bedding's rich fabric.

Silently, his thumb curled to pull the hammer back and release it. Underneath all my fretful deluge of emotions, I realized that his nails were unusually long and sharp like…like…

_Claws, _I whispered inwardly.

He replaced the gun back against my temple. "I'm not going to repeat myself again, Kikyo. Where…is…he?" he questioned, his words coming out forebodingly slow and steady, eyes never leaving mine.

* * *

_iv. _**Interlude**

"_How dare me! How dare **me**!"_

_The feminine voice flailed throughout the darkness in a rush of heatwaves as the wind picked up outside and caused the curtain's movements to hasten._

"_Mom, Dad is never coming back and it's all because of _**you**_, you and your dirty life!"_

"_Kagome…"_

"_He told you, he begged of you to stop playing your little whore-games…" _

_An exhalation of breath…a half-sob…_

"_I know…I know he did, but…but that's not the reason why he hasn't come back…"_

"_Yes it is…I know it is. Because of y—"_

"_**Silence**! You act like you know everything when you really don't! You're nothing but a baby, Kagome…"_

"_Iie. I'm nothing but a teenager." _

"_Regardless, you will forever by **my** baby."_

_A hiccup…a whimper…_

"_Just tell me why he isn't back yet, Mama. Just…tell me why." _

_Silence._

"_He's…he's dead, Kagome."_


	3. Chapter 2: Nice To Meet You?

_Chapter Two_

_**Nice To Meet You?**_

The air around me flowed down my throat like a type of thick syrup and clogged my windpipes horribly. And the fact that my tormenter was wearing cologne didn't alleviate the situation any.

"Please…let me go," I pleaded hoarsely, "Please…"

Silver hair tumbled down my tormenter's shoulders like a waterfall of rich silk that could've landed any person who got their hands on it a pretty penny. It formed a curtain around me, a sinister and roiling curtain that made the tension, the fear, unfurling inside my chest grow to an unbearable degree. Right then, I wanted nothing to do other than to wrench the long, beautiful, silken strands from his head and make a run for it while he squalled out in agony, pure, sweet agony.

The barrel of the gun had grown warm against my temple. I stopped struggling a long time ago against my tormenter's bind because I was getting tired and it was beginning to bleed through my expression, apparently.

He began to laugh at my reluctant show of weakness. I frowned and tried to slow down the rapid pacing of my heart, but it was useless.

"I should shoot you right here and now," he murmured, foreboding and sadistic undertones blackening his voice.

He shoved the barrel closer against my skin to where I could feel the scorching heat that still clung to the metal after the last shot. I winced and once again he laughed that devilish, arrogant laugh.

"Such frailty…" he said, voice still dark and low, "Such foolish nerve in the face of danger…such…stupidity and weakness," he sighed, "Keh. You humans are all alike."

_You **humans**? And what exactly is he I wonder? _

I forced myself to look my tormenter straight in the eyes and, suddenly, I realized that the name "My Tormenter" had a certain ring to it that left a bitter taste to linger in the back of my throat. But such a 'strong' and 'honorable' title befitted one like him. To have a gun pressed against the skull of some helpless woman who didn't have any kind of weapon to protect herself with…

Yep. He was a real tormenter all right. He had all the dominative aspects and may've even graduated from Tormenter School with straight 'A's up the wazoo. AZIRIS

_He makes me sick already, _I thought and grimaced, which seemed aimed more at the gun rather than at the guy on top of me.

"Would you rather die here, Kikyo," his words floated above me like a cloud threatening to rain deadly needles at any moment, "or tell me where he is and be successful to leave unharmed and not full of bullet holes?"

Something in me that was living and squirming, guided by the life-line of stubbornness in my heart, died right then. Was it the thought of actually leaving there, body spitted with so many holes that I wouldn't even be able to drink water without it spurting out of me in countless waterfalls…like in the cartoons? No, that couldn't be it. It had to be something else, something more vile and heinous.

Gasp. What if he—he…

With a shriek, I shot upwards, instinctively kneeing my tormenter deeply in the groin without putting my actions under any hard reconsideration. I heard him growl, a sound that scraped off the edges of his throat like the furious hiss of a cat whose tail had been stepped on quite unpleasantly. He reared back, his silver hair lunging over his shoulders and cascading wildly down the arched plains of his back.

_Thump. _

I felt something cold kiss the tip of my right index finger. I glimpsed down, still dazed by all the events that had transpired before me in quick, mind-reeling flashes.

The gun! It was right there, completely dead to the world as its deadly barrel gazed at the wall off to the side.

Hesitantly, I reached for the handle.

* * *

_ii. _**Interlude**

"_D-Dead?"_

_The words wrapped around the sloping backside of her my like ice, biting, nibbling it away slowly, but that was _nothing compared to the pain_ that my mother's solemn reply inflicted._

"_Yes, dead."_

_Yet, there were no tears easing down the contours of her silken cheeks. There were no droopy eyes or hitching breaths of anguish or slip-grabbing of the chest in sheer heartache. No, there was none of that. None at all. _

_Suddenly, I felt anger flood through me, surge through my veins like wildfire. _

_My head bowed. "You didn't care, did you?" then my eyes, edges sharp as those of broken glass, veered upwards and I boomed, "You just didn't care!"_

* * *

_iii. _**Encounter**

At first, the gun tipped and wobbled in my jittery hands as I tried to restrain my heart from bursting through my chest. I was trying to aim the thing at the silver-haired guy before me, who had just stopped whimpering and adopted a perfectly prostrate state amidst the burgundy throw pillows and the cherry-wood headboard.

I looked at him with fretful intent. I was still determined to shoot him whether he was alive or had somehow even dropped dead from the blow to his groin. Though the gun continued to shake in my tiny hands as if to say, "No, don't do it. I'm so tired of being used as a weapon, as a killing machine," I dismissed its puny words and reed-pipe voice and looked onward, feeling a change begin to overtake me immediately.

I felt like Death. I felt like the almighty Death who closed shut the curtains of life, never to reopen them again. I felt so supreme, so omnipotent. I felt…all powerful.

My grip suddenly held fast, clenching the gun handle as if it were the last, tangible thing on Earth to hold onto. "I'm going to shoot you now," I murmured beneath my breath, and paused, half-expecting an answer and half-expecting a theatric, "Heh, yeah right. You don't even have the guts to kill me."

No matter what reply would soon be thrown my way, I cocked the hammer and settled my index finger firmly against the trigger.

_Maybe it's the sound that a gun makes that intimidates me—_

I aimed the gun at the guy's head—a clear shot!

—"_Boom Boom!" it roars, "Boom Boom!"—_

My index finger wrapped more and more around the curve of the trigger, making for a perfect fit as I pulled my finger harder against it.

—_Maybe it's the fact that guns kill, that it causes screams, many screechy sounds of death._

_A screechy-scream noisemaker! That's what it is! _

I pulled, and pulled, and pulled…

_Boom!_

* * *

_iv. _**Interlude**

_At the age of 13, things begin to seem a lot clearer, but not because you want them to. _

_At the age of 13, you begin to see things happen that you've never seen before and it makes you wish for the innocent comforts of waking up each morning and being "your parents' baby" once more and squeezing in long and pleasant naps in between each stint. _

_I understood why my mom didn't care about my dad. It didn't take a fool who barely knew past Adam's Apple to understand the situation. _

_She was a whore, a slut, an "escort" who went out with men occasionally to many upstaging festivities; however, her favorite ones by far were the slumber parties. During then, she wouldn't come home until daybreak, yet she never wore what she went out in last night. She'd always come back home, clean, primped, and showered, smelling of something beautiful and sweet. _

_She had class, I'll give her that. Lots and lots of it! _

_And she was always a good mother to me. In fact, she could've won Mother of the Year if it wasn't for her job. _

…_but, without that job…she would've never met… _

_Ah yes…my father, the man who wired a lot of cash to me and my mother with apparent attempts to keep Mom from "wasting away" her body. _

_A note was always enclosed to each envelope. They were all the same and I memorized them well._

**Kumiko,**

**Take this money. If you don't want my love, take my generosity instead. Just remember, I will not keep sending letters. One day, I hope to confront you face-to-face, just once more. **

**Sweet love,  
****Ren**

_Mom would always say the letters weren't addressed to her, that they were addressed to someone else. I would then scrutinize the letter hard before she snatched it away from me with plans of mailing it straight back to the sender. _

_I was stuck in ill quandary. And, unbeknownst to me, to the strike of 18, her words will still plague me. _

_Maybe I was right. Maybe she just didn't care. _

* * *

_v. _**Add-On**

The gun made itself known, an unwanted intrusion between the reticent carcass and the quivering blob of skin and bones that was me.

But there were no rivers of blood crying from open flesh wounds, no earsplitting screams of pain, not even a sound or sight of anguish. I felt my back grow rigid and taut—_A deadly omen is about to emerge_, I thought as I squeezed the gun handle, seeking comfort amidst the cold planes of metal.

A solitary blink of the eye was all it took. In that short flash of a moment, I was rendered helpless, terrified and literally helpless!

Long, slender fingers found both my shoulders, holding stead-fast and with merciless will. I shrieked, the gun dropping with ease from my fingertips as I was hurled off the bed like a stack of dirty laundry. I both heard and felt myself skid, knee-to-back-to-floor, across slick, wooden tiles, left in a broken heap of whimpers and nerve-numbing pain when friction finally kicked in and stopped me.

"You should've shot quicker," came his voice, full of darkness and raw impiety, "Maybe then you would've had a chance."

"Good," I mumbled weakly, breathing hard, "Next time when you pull a stunt like that, I'll be ready…ready to put a full-blown cap in your ass."

I heard a soft snicker fill the room and, after that, I heard footsteps approach me slowly from up ahead. I subdued the desire to look up.

"I see. So you're not Kikyo."

It wasn't a question, just an obvious statement stating an even more obvious fact.

_My, my, _I wanted to say, _How very perceptive of you. _But the words stuck like strong adhesive to my throat and I was left without any leeway for sparing my negative remarks. If only I could move my leg and send a low-sweeping kick to his ankles. God knows he deserves it for pushing me off the bed.

"But, if you're not Kikyo," the guy stooped down and we made stiff eye-contact with one another, "…who are you then?"

I just barely opened my mouth to reply before I heard a high-pitched melody fill the hall outside. Just then, I remembered that the bedroom door wasn't closed and that the raucous that had emerged during the scuffle between me and the silver-haired man adjacent to me was never left completely unnoticed.

The melody mounted steadily in volume and, soon, I could hear the gentle tapping of footfalls heading for the gawking door. But I wasn't the only one who noticed this. Somewhere in-between, the tormenter-turned-guy-turned-man, looked up to where his eyes met the open doorway with raw intensity. Though, in that one movement, my eyes drifted to land on his, to observe every facial feature that seemingly graced him without knowledge of the beast that lie dormant inside him.

As my eyes traveled, I could feel them widen with each feature that they boldly trespassed. Finally, when the pressure became too unbearable, I gasped as I feasted on the sight of his amber eyes, which burned with a furious light. But it didn't take long for my eyes to find something even more interesting, something even more incredible and, furthermore, inhuman. I watched as his lips parted slightly, revealing sharp fangs, the kind that Dracula bared right before he sucked his victims dry of their blood.

_So sharp, _I thought. _He's definitely not human. _

"What the…!"

In a flash, I snapped out of my trance to turn my head and greet the entrance of the bedroom, which was currently being blocked off by a handsome, young man, probably no older than twenty-five, with bronze skin and clothing uniform to the attire that the other man next to me was wearing. I became extremely lost in his infinitely dark, smooth strands of hair, which was pulled up into a neat ponytail that stopped just midway of his backside with a tiny scruff of hair neglected to serve as a bang.

So handsome was he, and so lost was I in his features that our eyes soon met and I felt my body freeze completely.

"Ka—Kagome," he murmured softly, "…is that you?"

_Oh no. Not again._

* * *

_vi. _**Interlude**

_A year and two months later, a little while after my fourteenth birthday, I found myself standing over my mother's body, which was coated in blood and washing ashore onto the beaches of my shoes. I stood there because I knew she was alive and was just playing a game…_

…_a god-awful game that was never meant to be played. _

_While I stood there, hands balled into loose fists and weak frame shuddering uncontrollably with unshed tears of grief, I felt a mannish hand grip my shoulder tenderly, yet firmly. _

"_Take care of her," I heard, "Please, take good care of her, Kouga."_


End file.
